A Ghost of a Chance
by jabberwockey
Summary: Dean takes a weekend off from hunting Leviathans and becomes hunted himself by an unknown creature.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

I don't own the rights to Supernatural or any of the characters created by those who do own it. I do have intellectual ownership of the original characters within these stories. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy them!

Please leave reviews so I can improve my writing ability and my stories!

A Ghost of a Chance

Chapter 1

Dean drove through the night, head throbbing and eyes grainy and swollen from lack of sleep. He and Sam had put so much effort into dealing with Dick Roman and his legion of leviathans with very little to show for it. He needed a break, badly. That's what this weekend was about, him and Sam going their separate ways for the weekend and getting some well-deserved R&R.

Finding out for sure that Bobby was a spirit was almost more that Dean could bear. Although he missed Bobby, there was just nothing good that could come of this. All spirits go vengeful eventually, all of them. Dean wasn't sure which hurt more, the fact that Bobby had been taken from them or the fact that he was going to have to eventually take Bobby out. Some day's life sucks more than others, he thought.

"Well to hell with all that crap!" Dean shouted out the window of the car. "I'm heading to the middle of nowhere and I'm OFF this weekend!" He rolled up the window and mumbled to the road ahead "No hunting of any kind for me this weekend."

He had no destination in mind. Just driving until he had the urge to stop at a bar that had copious amounts of alcohol and a decent bacon cheeseburger. No hunters, no job, nothing to remind him of all the pain and suffering he's had to deal with over the years.

He had driven so long that he no longer knew what state he was in, much less if there was a town nearby. He was getting extremely tired so started paying more attention to the road signs and when he saw the amenities sign for the next exit that showed food and lodging.

"As good a place as any." Dean said as he turned on the blinker and headed up the exit ramp. He turned right at the stop sign, not even paying attention to the name of the town. He didn't recognize it as a place he'd ever been so didn't care what it was called. He just needed to get some sleep and do some forgetting, even if it was only for a day or two.

Doing a quick lap of town, he located a motel that was located reasonably close to the establishments that would suit his needs. "Well, first things first." he thought, as he parked in the lot behind the motel. "I'm not doing anything until I have a few hours of sleep."

The sun was just creeping above the horizon as he checked in to the motel under the alias Steve Clark. He had created this one, based on the Def Leppard guitarist of the same name, just in case he ever wanted to do exactly what he was doing now while still sticking with the rock name motif. It was a common enough name that no hunter, or leviathan for that matter, should connect it to him. Especially since there was nothing supernatural that he was aware of going on in this area.

He paid no attention whatsoever to the room except to locate the bed. He didn't even bother undressing or pulling the sheets back. He simply locked the door then collapsed onto the bed, falling almost immediately into a deep sleep.

He awoke with a start, noticing with surprise that the sun had already gone down. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had slept for close to twelve hours solid. Three to five hour naps were the norm with the occasional lazy day where he actually got six or more hours of sleep. He also couldn't remember ever feeling like he had been beaten all over with a baseball bat, except after most hunts anyway.

He turned and looked at the bed "Oh, that explains it," said Dean as he noticed the bare bed. He had apparently thrashed so much in his sleep that he had even managed to knock off the fitted sheet.

He shrugged off the condition of the bed. Not like he hasn't had more than his fair share of nightmares, small wonder. Taking a quick shower and getting into relatively clean cloths, he got ready to find something to eat. He was famished and wasn't out to impress anyone. Much to his own surprise, at the moment, he had no desire at all to try for a hook-up. All he wanted to do was to get some food in his belly and then tie on one hell of a drunk.

The local bar advertised that food was available so he went in to see if it measured up. If the food looked passable he would stay, otherwise there was a mom and pop restaurant just down the street.

He walked in to find it a small but comfortable and well kept looking place. As he walked to an open table he saw several people eating what appeared to be quit appetizing meals. His stomach growled audibly as the smell of the food hit him. He sat down and a waitress came to his table immediately.

"Sounds like you got here just in time!" she said teasingly.

"Overslept," he said sheepishly. "So you heard that?"

"From five feet away," she replied. "My name is Sally, and I will be your server tonight. Do you need a menu?"

"No thanks," said Dean. "Just give me a bacon cheeseburger, an order of fries, and have another one being prepared as soon as the first one is up."

"Gotta love a man with an appetite!" said Sally with just a hint of flirtation. "Anything to drink with that?"

"All things considered I should probably start with soda. But I would appreciate a beer before the second plate comes out," said Dean, ignoring the opportunity to flirt back.

"Suit yourself," said Sally, a bit insulted by the way her flirtation was squashed. As she walked away, she looked back and noticed how he looked so exhausted. No, she reassessed, not exhausted but beat down and on the edge of defeat.

She came back in a matter of minutes with his soda and fries. "Burger will be up soon but I thought you might need something right away so rushed the fries out."

"Thanks," said Dean, the sincerity in his voice, the slouch of his shoulders, and the way he tore into the fries with gusto made her realize that he was just too physically and emotionally exhausted to even realize that he had slighted her. Not that she was a psychologist or anything, but in order to have any success in this type of job you have to be able to read your customers mood.

She brought him his burger and beer at the same time. He grunted the universal "My mouth's full but thank you" that waitresses quickly learn to understand and smiled almost boyishly at her. She smiled back and walked away to help other customers, not wanting to push her luck. Not that she was easy by any stretch of the imagination, but something about this guy piqued her interest. He might be down but he wasn't out, not yet anyway. Not too shabby on the eyes either.

Dean tore into the burger, demolishing it in a matter of minutes. Sally brought the second burger and fries and Dean thanked her, and then dug right in. And that's how the night went for several hours, she would bring him his order and he would ignore her and everyone else in the bar. Sometimes she would try to start a conversation but he would politely but quickly shut her down.

Around midnight, soon after bringing Dean his tenth or so beer, Sally walked over to his table and sat down. Dean looked at her, a confused look on his face, and started to speak.

"Shut up," she said, her tone softening the harsh words. "I've been trying to make conversation with you all night and you have been ignoring me completely. I'm not used to that."

"I'm not up for conversation. I just want to be left to my thoughts," said Dean.

"Bull shit!" she said, all but glaring at Dean. "Something is eating you alive and if you don't talk about it then it will consume you. Don't try to con me, I know the tells."

"You don't say," said Dean starting to puff up a bit. "Maybe all I'm trying to do is protect you and all these people from me! I have done some REALLY heinous things in my day and there are worse to come."

"You have no idea what it means to do bad things" said Sally, hanging her head. "I've done….bad things," her voice getting quieter as she spoke. "I don't know why I'm telling you this but something tells me I can trust you. I've only been out of prison for two years."

She hung her head, refusing to make eye contact. Dean started to speak but she cut him off.

"No. Let me finish, you need to hear the whole story. When I was around 19 I had…issues. I had a rather serious drug problem. Didn't care how I got my next fix and certainly didn't care if I hurt anyone doing it. A few petty thefts, a mugging or two."

She looked up and met Dean's eyes. He nodded at her to go on, not bothering to speak. "And going by his eyes, not bothering to judge either" she thought.

"Anyway, I eventually really screwed up and killed someone. It was an accident but it was my fault. Got 12 years for involuntary manslaughter, still have 2 years to go on Parole. So, what do you think? Can you top that?"

Dean looked at her then started to giggle almost hysterically. She glared at him and started to stand up. Dean grabbed her hand almost gently.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Please sit down."

She sat down grudgingly but continued to glare at Dean.

Dean looked at her, seeing how much he had hurt her. "Ok, I call your murder and raise you an apocalypse," said Dean

Sally looked at him quizzically, feeling betrayed and insulted by his comment. She opened her mouth to speak.

"No," Dean cut her off. "My turn for the truth, but this is gonna require a bit of privacy and a whole lot of understanding on your part. I take it you're off the clock?"

"Yes," said Sally, feeling a bit nervous.

"Let me walk you home then," said Dean, "and I will explain it on the way."

"And what makes you think I want you to walk me home, much less know where I live?" she asked. The laughter and apocalypse comment had put her a bit on edge.

"Fair enough," said Dean. "I tell you what, I'm gonna go for a walk before heading back to my motel. Join me or not, it's your choice. But in case you choose not to join me please understand that I had no intention of hurting your feelings, I am dangerous but not to you, and I was completely serious when I mentioned the apocalypse."

After saying that, Dean simply turned and headed for the door. He downed the last of his beer as he walked, setting the empty on the end of the bar as he walked by, and never looked back to see if she followed.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer:

I don't own the rights to Supernatural or any of the characters created by those who do own it. I do have intellectual ownership of the original characters within these stories. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy them!

Please leave reviews so I can improve my writing ability and my stories!

A Ghost of a Chance

Chapter 2

Sally hesitated, feeling nervous and exhilarated at the same time. She only paused for a few seconds before heading for the door. "What the hell," she said as she stepped out the door. "If he turns out to be a psycho killer at least I deserve it."

She looked around and spotted Dean about a half a block away. Quickening her pace, she caught up with him by the end of the block and matched his pace. "So, the apocalypse?" she said a bit teasingly.

Dean looked at her and asked "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

She hesitated briefly but then said "Yes, I think I am. When I said earlier that I had a feeling I could trust you I meant it."

Dean took a deep breath then said, "Ok, where to start. Best place is the beginning I guess." Dean told her everything, his childhood, hunting, monsters, the whole enchilada. To her credit she didn't run away screaming as Dean laid out the insanity that was his life.

"Um, wow," said Sally. "What can I say to that?"

"That felt surprisingly good to get that off my chest," said Dean.

"So is this the part where you kill me? Because that was totally insane! I can't bring myself to say it's true but you obviously believe it," said Sally, trying to process all that Dean had told her.

"Well unfortunately I've told you…." Dean said trailing off as he heard a howling off in the distance.

"A whopper of a tale!" said Sally jokingly. But when she looked at Dean, he had stopped and was staring intently in the direction of the howling which was getting louder. "What is it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," said Dean. "But we should probably head to my motel just in case."

"Dean, you're starting to spook me. What's the matter?" she asked.

He didn't answer her but visibly tensed. She looked at where he was staring at and noticed what appeared to be a large wolf.

"But…there aren't any wolves around here," she said. Then the wolf flickered and was suddenly ten feet closer and howling in an eerie, unnatural way. She started screaming.

Dean grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the wolf and yelled "Run!"

She resisted for a few seconds but the urgency in Dean's voice got her moving.

"We've got to find someplace to hole up. Someplace defensible," said Dean.

"Hole up? Defensible? How do you expect to be able to defend against that?!" she almost screamed at him.

"Trust me," he said. "I know what I'm doing. Here, take my motel key. There's a bag of rock salt in my duffle just inside the door. I can fend it off while you open the door and put a line of salt across the door."

"What good will a line of salt do?" she said, out of breath.

"Trust me," said Dean. "It will keep it from getting in. There are no windows in my room so that's the only line we will need."

They ran for a bit, the wolf on their heels. Dean wondered why it wasn't overtaking them but had to focus on looking for a weapon as he ran so couldn't give it too much thought. He noticed a house ahead that had what looked like a wrought iron fence in front of it. He needed a weapon so decided to take the chance.

"Keep running, I'm going to try to slow it down," said Dean. She was too out of breath to even attempt to answer. He stopped at the house he had spotted and quickly found a piece of railing that was loose. With a grunt he wrenched it free and turned to face the wolf. It side stepped him nimbly and continued after Sally, not even slowing down.

"Son of a Bitch!" Dean cursed loudly.

He took off after them, again wondering why the wolf was pacing her instead of moving in for the kill. He got his answer quickly when he heard a commotion behind him. Looking briefly over his shoulder, he noticed a large medieval hunting party catching up quickly.

"Give me a damned break! All I wanted was a quiet weekend!" Dean screamed at the sky as he picked up his pace, trying to catch up with Sally.

As Dean ran as fast as he could, he saw Sally slam into the motel room door, barely trying to slow down in her rush to get inside the room. She got inside quickly, not fumbling the keys at all. But it took her a few seconds to find the salt and lay the line. Just as she placed the last of the salt the wolf hit the open doorway and bounced off like it had hit a wall. "Good girl!" Dean thought vindictively.

Dean sprinted for the open door, planning to dive over the wolf through the open door. Unfortunately for him, the wolf stood up as he was in mid leap and swatted him aside. He bounced off the hood of a car, shattering the windshield as he went. He got up and started back towards the door but by that time there were three more wolves at the door and the main hunting party was in the parking lot.

"Well this has been a hell of a weekend!" exclaimed Dean.

"And unfortunately for you, it's going to end early," said a booming voice from across the parking lot. "I don't appreciate it when I'm denied the object of my hunt!"

"Well whooptie frigging doo!" yelled Dean. "My heart bleeds for your loss."

"You shouldn't be so flippant with me, boy. I've killed hundreds like you," said the spirit as it came to within five feet of Dean.

It was an odd looking thing, patchwork armor representing hundreds of years and almost as many cultures. It was tall, well over seven feet, and appeared to be broad shouldered and muscular.

"Oh, I beg to differ," said Dean, putting as much swagger into his voice as he could muster. "You might have killed hundreds but none like me."

"Yes, exactly like you. Small, arrogant so called Hunters!" said the spirit, emphasizing the last word with scorn. "And now, since you've deprived me of my chosen prey, I will hunt you instead."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer:

I don't own the rights to Supernatural or any of the characters created by those who do own it. I do have intellectual ownership of the original characters within these stories. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy them!

Please leave reviews so I can improve my writing ability and my stories!

A Ghost of a Chance

Chapter 3

"My ass!" yelled Dean, swinging the wrought iron bar at the wolf between him and the specter causing it to dissipate. He continued the motion and spun around swinging at the spirits head where it bounced off the horned helm with the resounding clang of a metal on metal impact.

"You've got spirit boy, I'll give you that," said the spirit.

"What are you?" asked Dean, confused by his ineffective assault.

"I will ignore your rudeness and start with who I am. I am the Master of the Wild Hunt," said the spirit, gesturing to the assortment of spirits around him as he said Wild Hunt as if it were their proper name. "What I am is more difficult to explain. I am a ghost as you first thought, but I have absorbed the essences of thousands of spirits over the centuries. With each spirit absorbed I become stronger."

"But iron doesn't affect you? You're a spirit so iron should cause you to go poof!"

"True, iron no longer affects me. I don't know when this happened as most run instead of attacking me but it has been so for at least a century now. And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I still am unable to cross salt lines but," the Master of the Hunt paused as he walked towards the open door and pushed his hand a full foot into the room "as you can see that limitation is lessening with each kill as well. And in the spirit of sportsmanship, even if you could find them, burning my bones wouldn't work either. There are simply too many different spirits making up my essence for your methods to work."

"Frigging great!" yelled Dean at no one in particular. "A ghost I can't gank! What next? Demons not being affected by holy water?!"

"No, I believe that is still effective on all demons," said the Master of the Hunt, pacing back out into the parking lot.

Dean glared at the spirit, "Rhetorical question ass hat!" As he said that, Dean lunged towards the motel door and swung wildly with the wrought iron bar. Surprised by this action, the three wolves blocking the door scattered and Dean lunged for it.

He let out a whoop of victory as he crossed the threshold only to have it replaced by a grunt of surprise as he was pulled back across by the Master of the Hunt.

Sally screamed something incoherent and grabbed Dean's hand, trying to pull him the rest of the way inside the room. She braced one foot on the door jamb and pulled as hard as she could but she may as well have been trying to stop a train from pulling away from the station. She let go before her hand crossed the threshold and stood just inside the room.

"What do you want from us!" she screamed at the spirit from the doorway.

"Your soul," said the spirit with Dean still dangling from its left hand. It lunged with its right hand at the doorway as it casually flung Dean half way across the parking lot.

Startled, Sally instinctively fell backwards from the grasping hand. The spirit got a hold of a small bit of her hair but it slipped through the spirits fingers, not getting enough hair for a firm grip. She tripped and landed square on her tailbone with a yelp, immediately crab walking backwards from the door.

"And since you don't seem inclined to let me have yours, then the Hunter's will have to do as a replacement," said the spirit as it turned from Sally to face Dean.

She stepped towards the door and Dean screamed "NO! Don't do it!" stopping her in her tracks

"But, why not," asked Sally. "It's not like I don't deserve it.".

"Because I at least have a chance against these ass monkeys!" yelled Dean. "I know a trick or three that just may come in handy and I have a knack for getting out of impossible situations."

"How noble," said the spirit. "But the moon is getting low in the sky and it's time for a hunt. The rules are very simple, if you survive till sun up then you both live. If you don't, then I will be back to hunt the female later. If you try to sequester yourself on hallowed ground or within a salt circle then all bets are off. If you try to get in a vehicle and outrun us till dawn, all bets are off. -You will both be hunted down without mercy, without chance. Do you understand these rules Hunter?"

"Oh yeah," said Dean. "I understand perfectly. I understand that you've just made the biggest frigging mistake of your existence because I'm going to survive this. And then, after I've taken care of Dick Leviathan fucking Roman, I'm gonna devote every single minute, every single resource at my disposal to ganking YOU!" Dean spat at the spirit.

"And to that endeavor I honestly wish you the best of luck, you'll need it and I tire of this existence," said the spirit. "But now the hunt begins. You have a two minute head start. Remember the rules."

Dean wasted no time, sprinting around to the back of the motel to where his car was parked. He hopped in and fired up the engine as he rolled the window down. The tires billowed smoke as he came around the building into the parking lot where the hunt waited.

He slowed down as he came near the spirit and yelled out the window "Not staying in it, just maximizing my head start. Not against the rules!"

After a few seconds the Master of the Hunt nodded the affirmative at Dean, acknowledging and accepting Dean's interpretation of the rule. At that signal Dean stomped on the gas and tore down the main drag of town, putting as much distance as he could between him and the Hunt in sixty seconds.

"This one is going to be interesting," mumbled the spirit to no one in particular. "Well played," he said to the retreating car as the curve of the road took it out of sight.

The members of the hunt took off at a sprint as soon as the car was out of sight. "HEEL!" yelled the Master of the Hunt. "The rules apply to ALL involved in the hunt, not just the prey. You will abide by those rules or perish!" They all grudgingly returned to their positions behind the Master to wait impatiently for the command to give chase.

When the two minutes were up the Master of the Hunt yelled "Give chase!" and the pack took off like a shot. The hounds took the lead, sniffing the ground and the air trying to get Deans scent. The warriors followed on spectral horses, giving the hounds enough distance to be able to change direction or stop without being run over by the riders. The Master of the Hunt rode behind, allowing the pack to do their jobs.

As the Hunt turned the corner they saw Dean's car about a mile down the road, resting askew and partially on top of the smaller car that it had impacted. As the Master of the Hunt got closer he noticed where the cars tire had clipped the curb, causing it to veer wildly and wreck. As he approached the car, the hounds started baying in frustration. He quickly dismounted and shoved aside the pack members that were blocking his way. Looking into the driver's window he saw the steering wheel had been tied off and a brick lying in the floor near the accelerator.

"This is going to be a VERY interesting hunt!" he said as he jumped back on his mount and directed the Hunt back the way it had come. "Check every alley and side rode for scent, NOW!". The hounds leapt to follow their new orders.

As soon as he was out of sight of the hunt Dean stopped the car, grabbed as much as he could realistically carry from the trunk, hastily tying off the steering wheel. Then he put a brick on the gas pedal and popped the shifter into drive. He spun away from the accelerating car and sprinted towards the alley where he had dropped the duffel of weapons and supplies.

He grabbed the duffel and hid behind a dumpster, waiting to see if his ploy worked. The Hunt came around the corner about thirty seconds after he had hid behind the dumpster. Fortunately for Dean, he had made a lap around town so knew that there was a long straight away here so the car had wrecked only moments before the Hunt turned the corner. They didn't hesitate, heading after the car at a full sprint that no mortal creature could maintain for more than a few seconds. The Hunt wasn't even winded.

When the Master of the Hunt was far enough past Dean, he shouldered the duffel as quietly as he could and headed further down the alley. Halfway down he switched from a quick walk to a distance eating jog. At the end of the alley he stopped and pulled out the biggest container of salt he had with him and laid a salt line between the two buildings.

"Well, that should slow them down a bit" said Dean as he gathered up his duffel and took off at a sprint towards the store he had spotted earlier, scattering salt behind him occasionally in the hopes that it would throw them off his scent for a bit. For what he had planned he was going to need a LOT of salt, much more than he ever carried with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer:

I don't own the rights to Supernatural or any of the characters created by those who do own it. I do have intellectual ownership of the original characters within these stories. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy them!

Please leave reviews so I can improve my writing ability and my stories!

A Ghost of a Chance

Chapter 4

There was plenty of time before dawn so the Master of the Hunt decided to be more methodical than usual. This wasn't the usual prey after all, and a bit of caution was in order. He had the hounds split up to both sides of the street and back track checking for scent after checking and, not surprisingly, not finding any around the car.

They located the alley that Dean had hidden in within minutes and launched themselves down it at top speed. The hounds hit the salt line first with such force that if they actually had spines, their necks would have snapped. Instead, they simply bounced backwards into the legs of the charging steeds. Most of the rest of the pack charged right into the mess, only the Master of the Hunt and a handful of the more cautious of the pack were spared the indignity of joining the pile up.

"This one is going to be very interesting," said the Master of the Hunt, a smile spreading across his face. "Might even make my existence bearable again for a while," he thought.

The Master of the Hunt untangled the mess as quickly as he could, sending those pulled from the pile out of the alley to scout the streets to either side. He nodded approval as members of the pack started back down the alley, exercising caution as they went. The Wild Hunt they may be but stupid they were most definitely not.

Dean wasted no time on caution in the store. He simply threw a rock through the plate glass window and walked in. He was counting on being long gone before the police arrived and hoping that the store didn't have an alarm system for the police's sake. His luck held as there was no obvious alarm system.

"Ah, gotta love these small town stores," said Dean with a smile. "One stop shopping."

He gathered up what he needed into the largest cart he could find. It would be so much quicker and easier to transport with a vehicle but he couldn't risk the Master of the Hunt taking offense any more than he could risk them zeroing in on the sound of the engine. At this time of the morning they could assume that any engine sound was him since the rest of the town was sound asleep as if under a spell.

He headed for the school as quickly as he could. Trying to be stealthy would only allow the Wild Hunt to catch up with him. He did spread lots of salt on his trail and into some of the alleys he passed. Not nearly enough to actually form a barrier but hopefully it would make his scent harder to track. He got to the school and prepped as much as he could. He had some time but had no delusions about being able to finish to his preparations but he kept at it until he heard the baying of the hounds. That was the signal to finish his work and prepare himself to fight.

The Master of the Hunt looked at the moon as it hung low in the sky. They were running out of time. The caution they were forced to exercise earlier had cost them precious time, especially since no other traps had been discovered. The hounds had picked up his scent again where he left the store and picked up the pace as they followed the trail. When the hounds hit the first patch of scattered salt, they started jumping and dancing wildly as if on hot coals.

They had to slow down to avoid the salt patches and chased a few false trails when the salt led down an alley. But the Master of the Hunt quickly figured out what Dean's actual destination was although he didn't pass that information on to the Great Hunt. Wouldn't do for them to charge ahead too quickly even with time running out. But after about three blocks the salt ended and the Great Hunt had also figured out the destination of their quarry.

Finally having an actual scent trail to follow, the hounds took off at a lope with the horsemen close behind. The Master of the Hunt got them to heel but it was becoming progressively more difficult. It had been a long, frustrating night for the Hunt and they were becoming more and more restless. As a result they were also becoming more and more reckless. This wasn't good for the Hunt and the Master of the Hunt realized he needed to finish this quickly. Dawn was less than an hour away as well which only increased the Hunt's recklessness.

The Master of the Hunt allowed two of his wolves to scout ahead at a sprint. The Hunt could afford the loss of two but he kept the rest on a tight rein and at a safe distance, following the baying of the wolves as they charged head long after their intended prey. Within fifteen minutes the Master of the Hunt realized that they were starting to gain on the lead wolves even though they kept a steady pace.

"So we have found where he has chosen to make his stand" said the Master of the Hunt. "Members of the Great Hunt! Our prey is close but he is also cunning! We will be victorious but to do so we must also be cunning. We cannot simply go charging in trying to overwhelm this prey, we must be cautious and wary of the traps he has most certainly set for us. Take your positions in groups of four and search each room and be quick but be cautious. NOW GO!"

As he mentioned groups of four the members of the Great Hunt instinctively split up into groups most beneficial for small hunting parties. With the last statement the most impetuous groups immediately bolted for the front doors of the school. When they went through the doors instead of bouncing off of a salt barrier the confidence of the other groups was bolstered and they sprinted for the door as well. The Master of the Hunt held the most experienced group with him. They remained calm while the rest showed outward signs of their mounting frustration. Not that they weren't frustrated as well, they were just keeping it in check, ready to let it turn to battle rage when the time was right.

As he entered the school he saw the last of the groups he sent ahead enter a room. Right after that he noticed motion at the end of the hallway and at the same time all of the classroom doors slammed shut. He looked back to the end of the hall to see Dean going through a door and slamming it shut behind him.

The Master of the Hunt examined the first door and saw the burlap tube of salt attached to the bottom of it, effectively trapping the spirits within the room. Looking up, he saw the rope and pulley system Dean had used to close all the doors at once. He let out a beastial roar as he punched the locker nearest him, putting his fist completely through the door and pushing the back a full three inches into the brick and cinderblock wall.

"I have greatly underestimated this opponent," said the Master of the Hunt. "Trap him but DO NOT kill him! The honor of this kill is mine and mine alone. He has made a fool of me and must pay for his impertinence."

With that, the Master of the Hunt drew his sword and stormed down the hall towards the door that Dean had disappeared through. He knew the outcome but kicked at the door anyway. As he had suspected it didn't give. Dean had salted the other side. Not against the rules as there were other ways to get to him but every obstacle slowed him down that much more and his time was running out. It was only fifteen minutes until dawn. Dean was coming very close to beating him at his own game.

"Be careful what you wish for," the Master of the Hunt mumbled to himself as he signaled the four remaining members of the Great Hunt to go down the left hallway as he went down the right.

Dean waited behind the door to the gymnasium. It was one of only three doors in and the other two had salt lines sealing them shut. He was ready to close and salt this door as soon as something came in. Hopefully he could get the door shut and salted in time to block most of them out but it was pot luck. The glance he got before salting the door looking into the main hallway told him that he had managed to thin them down to five, the Master of the Hunt himself and four of his more cautious lackeys. He could only hope that he could manage to hold them off for the fifteen minutes or so until dawn.

The Master of the Hunt turned the corner and saw the open door. But was it a trap or was it Dean waiting for him for the final battle. Having no more time for caution, he simply walked through the door into the gymnasium. He hadn't walked ten feet into the room when the door slammed behind him. He turned and saw Dean laying a salt line across the door.

"You have proven to be a worthy adversary," said the Master of the Hunt. "Too bad your life ends today."

With that last comment he closed the distance between himself and Dean in the blink of an eye, swinging for Dean's neck.

Dean ducked under the swing and went into a forward roll, bouncing up to sprint to the small pile of meager weapons he had gotten from the store. It was no more than several pieces of wrought iron fence pieces and a half a dozen pieces of two by two's cut

roughly into three foot lengths with iron nails through one end. He grabbed one of each and turned to face the Master of the Hunt just in time to barely block a vicious slash at his rib cage that sent him staggering. Dean giggled almost maniacally as the image of the Arabian guard chasing Bugs Bunny, slashing away at him and screaming "Hassan Chop!" popped into his head.

"You find this funny boy?!" asked the Master of the Hunt, anger creeping into his voice.

Dean lost control of his laughter and lunged at the Master of the Hunt, swinging wildly with such fury that he forced his opponent back several steps. He was like a Viking warrior lost in the Berserker Fury. There was nothing but the battle, live or die didn't matter anymore to him. The only thing that mattered was taking out his opponent at all costs.

The Master of the Hunt quit talking; all of his focus was required just to fend off Deans attacks. There was no chance for him to counter attack. As the battle raged across the gym he noticed his four Lieutenants enter from the locker room, where Dean hadn't had a chance to salt the windows, and at a warning glance from him took up positions on the bleachers to watch. Win or lose, their part was over in this hunt so they settled in to watch a battle the likes of which they had never seen.

Even that momentary lapse of concentration was costly to the Master of the Hunt. In the split second that he was distracted, Dean landed a blow to his ribs. The club shattered but left two of the iron nails impaled in his body. When he disengaged enough to be able to remove the barbs, Dean grabbed another club from his pile. No member of the Hunt tried to interfere with him.

Dean went right back after the Master of the Hunt like an animal, swinging with every ounce of energy he had. The problem however, was simple biology. Each swing was becoming slower and had less force. The lack of sleep and a night on the run was taking its toll and adrenalin was only good for so long and it was beginning to fail him.

The Master of the Hunt sensed the slowing of Dean's attack and began to press back with his own attacks. Dean managed to fend off most of them but every attack he failed to stop slowed him down that much more. Dean was covered with dozens of cuts. None of them would be lethal on their own but the blood he was losing from them weakened him that much more.

When Dean could barely swing his weapons anymore, the Master of the Hunt threw down his sword and began pummeling him. He let his rage and frustration loose with each swing but no matter how hard he hit Dean, he simply wouldn't stay down. Oh, he knocked him down several times but Dean simply got back up again. Slowly granted, but he simply wouldn't quit no matter what.

Finally, with a full five minutes to go before dawn, Dean was punching at the Master of the Hunt with such little force that it wouldn't have staggered a five year old. He had dropped his weapons a few minutes earlier when he no longer had the strength to hold onto them.

"Well done Dean, well done. It's been a long time since I've faced a challenge like you. From the beginning, you have shown me the skill and determination of a true warrior. You have truly earned the title of Hunter Dean Winchester," said the Master of the Hunt as he walked to the center of the gym. "It has been centuries since I faced an opponent anywhere near your caliber. It has been a most invigorating night."

"Quit posturing and finish this you ass hat!" Dean tried to yell. "Just finish this already. I'm too tired and sore to listen to you monologuing."

"But you misunderstand me Dean," said the Master of the Hunt. "Tonight is the first time in literally centuries that I've actually felt almost alive again! You could have evaded me until dawn, but instead you chose to stand and fight. I will NOT dishonor that by killing you or the girl. You have earned your reprieve as well as hers. You are both forevermore safe from the Great Hunt."

As he said the last comment Dean collapsed, no longer able to even raise his head from the floor. The Master of the Hunt walked over and effortlessly picked up Dean and took him back to the motel where Sally waited.

She covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a scream when she saw the Master of the Hunt carrying Dean towards her. "YOU BASTARD!" she screamed. "He shouldn't have had to die for me!"

"And he didn't," said the Master of the Hunt. "While he is badly injured, he will heal in time. He fought with honor and with passion and he earned my respect this night and he did it for you, a woman he barely knows. Honor that and help him to heal."

With that, the Master of the Hunt gently laid Dean on the ground in front of the door and then disappeared.


End file.
